


believe me when I say it’s all right

by coffeeandcheesecake



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: M/M, Pennywise Being A Massive Dick, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, movie typical violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:47:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23356453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandcheesecake/pseuds/coffeeandcheesecake
Summary: Richie turns to look behind him but the door is gone, too. There’s no sign of the park, or the clown, or Derry. Before Richie can begin to process what’s going on, a door just off the living room opens, and Eddie strolls out.(A short cut-scene designed to take place just after the Truth-or-Dare scene in the park.)
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 7
Kudos: 61





	believe me when I say it’s all right

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this back in October just after ITCH2 came out but have been too cowardly to post it (until now, it’s 2am and I’m feeling semi-brave). I always meant to write more of it but so many people have done post-chapter-two-fix-it-fics better than me, so I’m happy to just throw this little cut-scene into the ring. I can’t believe my first fic for the It fandom was just written to torture Richie but... what can I say. Hope this is enjoyable for someone besides me!
> 
> Come say hi! I’m @beepbeeplizzie on both twitter and tumblr :)

Richie runs out of the park so fast it feels like he’s flying. He can still hear Pennywise sobbing behind him but he doesn’t turn around. His breath is coming hard and painful-- this is the fastest he’s run since… ever? Probably since the last time he was here, in this park, running away from that fucking clown.

He spots an open coffee shop called Riposa and darts in, the door clanging shut behind him. He doubles over, wheezing, trying to catch his breath, but when he looks up, he’s not standing in a coffee shop at all. It looks like someone’s living room: squashy couches, a little cluttered.

“What the fuck…?”

Richie turns to look behind him but the door is gone, too. There’s no sign of the park, or the clown, or Derry. Before Richie can begin to process what’s going on, a door just off the living room opens, and Eddie strolls out.

Eddie, just like he knows him now, humming to himself and fixing his tie. His jacket is slung over his arm and he’s in socked feet, padding around comfortably like he knows this place. He flips on the coffee maker and leans onto the kitchen counter, finally finishing the knot around his neck. 

“Oh,” he says towards the room he just left, “did you see any mail for me yesterday? There’s a bill I’m keeping my eye out for.”

Richie doesn’t know what he’s bracing himself for but suddenly he’s frozen, and then time stops when he, himself, some version of him comes through the door. It’s absolutely him, from the thick glasses on his face to his novelty pajama pants, but something is… off. Something is different. Richie can’t put his finger on it.

“Excuse me?” this other Richie says. “Who’s this Bill you’re keeping an eye out for? Someone I should be worried about?”

Eddie grins, somewhat exasperated, somewhat fond. “Ha, ha,” he says. “You’re hilarious.”

Richie can’t move. He’s dreaming. Did he fall and hit his head when he ran out of the park? How else could this be happening in front of him?

“Psst. Richie.”

Richie’s insides go cold as he turns away from the Eddie and Richie in the kitchen, who are standing very close to each other. Pennywise is suspended in the corner of the room where the wall meets the ceiling, smiling at him eerily. Richie swallows but doesn’t say anything. 

“Okay, okay,” Eddie laughs at something Other Richie had said quietly. “You’re so funny, I know. Get off me, stop that, I need to go to work.”

“Go on, then!” Other Richie says dramatically, slumping over the island. “Leave me! I’ll just be here, cooking, cleaning--” 

“The day you cook or clean is the day I become President of the United States,” Eddie interrupts. “Now, can I go?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. President,” Other Richie mock salutes, and then before Richie can emotionally prepare himself, before he can think roommates, roommates, they’re roommates, Other Richie takes Eddie’s face in his hands and kisses him, gentler than Richie has ever seen himself do anything. Eddie leans into it, smiling into the kiss. Richie feels like he’s been set on fire, starting with his feet, the heat spreading like lava up his legs and his arms into his face, which has to be as red as blood, as red as those fucking balloons he just saw in the park.

Eddie and Other Richie finally stop macking, and Eddie grabs his briefcase. “Write today!” he says, pointing a stern finger at Other Richie, who is pouring himself a cup of coffee. “I’ll think about it,” Other Richie says casually, a grin hovering in the corners of his mouth.

“Rich, I mean it.”

“Mission to ground control, we read you loud and clear,” Other Richie says, his hands over his mouth. When Eddie continues to stare at him, he drops his hands and laughs. “Okay! I will! Now get out of here! Go save lives, you lunatic.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “For the last time, I don’t save lives.”

“Yes, you do, because that’s what I tell my parents to impress them. Now go!” 

Eddie rolls his eyes but darts back across the room to kiss Other Richie one more time. Richie watches them, and catching his reflection in the entryway mirror, he sees that his eyes have a hunger to them, so deep it terrifies him. 

“Whaddaya think, Rich?” a cruel voice whispers in his ear. 

Richie stumbles back, almost knocking over the entryway table. Pennywise waves his hands, and the scene disappears, only to be replaced by a new one. It’s the same apartment, but the lighting is darker. It’s evening. Sam Cooke is playing on the stereo, and Other Richie has his arms around Eddie’s waist, and they’re dancing, and Richie never thought he was capable of doing something so tender without making a joke of it. He stares at his own face and realizes what makes this Richie so different from him. He’s happy.

He sees Pennywise out of the corner of his eye, watching him and smiling. He keeps expecting the clown to open his jaw wide, show Richie those rows and rows of terrible teeth, but Pennywise only watches him, his yellow eyes glinting.

“Beep beep?” Pennywise whines in his ear like a mosquito, suddenly right beside him. “Is it too much?”

Richie clenches his jaw, but doesn’t turn and tries not to move. 

“What is this?” he asks quietly. “I thought you only showed us stuff that scares us.”

He feels Pennywise’s fingers creeping up his arm, squeezing his elbow and dancing up his shoulder. 

“Oh, but Richie,” he says in that mournful voice that sends shivers up Richie’s spine. “This does scare you.”

The scene dissipates again, and now Richie is whipping a dish towel at Eddie while he washes dishes. Another: they’re curled up together watching TV, Richie running his fingers through Eddie’s hair. Another: they’re kissing sloppily, shedding clothes and clutching each other as they make their way to the bedroom.

“I can scare you with death,” Pennywise says, but his voice sounds different, almost like Bill’s. “I could show you yourself, wasting away in a hospital bed. I could scare you with humiliation, rejection, loneliness.” Now he sounds like Bev, the way she can sound so sad. “But it wouldn’t really mean anything, would it, Richie?”

Richie is trembling, and he feels a tear twist down his cheek. He doesn’t want to wipe it away, but he doesn’t want Pennywise to see it either.

“It wouldn’t mean anything because those are the things you think you deserve.” 

Richie bites his lip hard to keep the sound he makes inside his mouth. He tastes pennies. 

The scene changes again, and Eddie looks up from the kitchen table, spots Richie, and smiles. Not at a different, happier Richie. At him.

“Hey, handsome,” he says.

“Stop,” Richie whispers. Pennywise doesn’t answer. 

“You’re home early,” Eddie says. “Did the meeting go well?” 

“I don’t—” Richie says, another tear dripping off his chin. “I can’t—”

“You can’t what?” Eddie says. “Answer me? Big surprise. Richie Tozier, never quiet for a fucking second until you actually want him to say something.” He stands, advancing toward Richie, a darker look on his face. “Richie Tozier, says every little thing that pops,” he mimes the action, fingers spreading open, “into his head, but he won’t tell you the truth.”

Eddie gets close enough to Richie to see that his eyes are red.

“You’re right, you know,” Eddie says, and he smiles. His teeth are red, too. “You don’t deserve this. You never will. You’ll keep it all inside, and it’ll eat you from the inside out, and you’ll die by yourself. Alone, alone, alone.” Eddie’s voice has something else behind it, an echo. It sounds something like Richie’s mother. “A lonely life. That’s what you deserve. Not this.”

Richie’s squeezes his eyes shut. “This isn’t real. This is not real,” he mutters to himself.

“Not real!” Eddie, or whatever he is now, brays a laugh that sounds like a knife scraping a plate. “Of course it’s not real, Richie! It’ll never be real! Because you’re a coward!”

Richie presses his hands to his ears and keeps his eyes squeezed shut. Eddie is laughing cruelly, and the laugh sounds like his parents, his friends, his agent, anyone he’s ever lied to about who he is and what he wants, and it’s as if he’s at the bottom of a pit and he can hear the laughter, far off, moving away, leaving him behind

And then one quiet, confused, soft, “Richie?”

Richie opens his eyes and Eddie is directly in front of him, looking worried. Then suddenly, blood is pouring from his eyes and his mouth.

“What the—” Richie stumbles away, cursing.

“Richie, help me,” Eddie cries, blood splashing onto his neat little shirt, onto his hands. “I don’t want to die.”

Richie falls into a chair, Eddie advancing towards him, tracking blood across the floor. Then those bloody hands are on his face.

“Richie, Richie,” Eddie moans. “You’re gonna let me die?”

”I didn’t mean to,” Richie weeps, trying to fight off the hands clutching at his cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”

“Richie!”

“I’m sorry—”

“Richie, wake up!”

Richie’s eyes snap open. He’s laying on the floor, it feels like. It’s cold, like linoleum. Eddie is kneeling over him, hands on his face. There’s a little crowd of people just over his shoulder, peeking at him and looking terrified. Richie scrambles up. 

“You okay, dude?” Eddie asks, hands still outstretched like he wants to make sure Richie’s all right.

“I’m fine,” Richie says, wiping his mouth. He looks around. He’s in a coffee shop. There's a little sign that says Riposa over the counter. “Let’s get out of here.” He waves to the little crowd. “Sorry about that, folks.”

He and Eddie hasten out of the shop.

“Was it—?” Eddie asks tentatively.

“Yeah,” Richie says brusquely. “How’d you know I was in there?”

“I was passing by and I heard screaming,” Eddie shrugs and gives him a wry look. “I had a feeling.”

“I owe you one,” Richie says, keeping his eyes down on the sidewalk.

“So what’d you see?” Eddie asks, and Richie wonders if he hears something careful in Eddie’s words.

“Oh you know,” Richie says, trying to laugh. “The usual.”


End file.
